“I have got it.”

And he pulled up his long pole very gently, very gently.  Then something large appeared upon the surface.  The other mariner left his oars, and they both uniting their strength and hauling upon the inert weight, caused it to tumble over into their boat.

Then they made for the land, seeking a place well lighted and low.  At the moment when they landed, the women also arrived.  The moment she saw him, Madeleine fell back with horror.  In the moonlight he already appeared green, with his mouth, his eyes, his nose, his clothes full of slime.  His fingers closed and stiff, were hideous.  A kind of black and liquid plaster covered his whole body.  The face appeared swollen, and from his hair, glued up by the ooze, there ran a stream of dirty water.

“Do you know him?” asked one.

The other, the Croissy ferryman, hesitated: 

“Yes, it certainly seems to me that I have seen that head; but you know when like that one cannot recognize anyone easily.”  And then, suddenly: 

“Why, it’s Mr. Paul.”

“Who is Mr. Paul?” inquired his comrade.

The first answered: 

“Why, Mr. Paul Baron, the son of the senator, the little chap who was so amorous.”

The other added, philosophically: 

“Well, his fun is ended now; it is a pity, all the same, when one is so rich!”

Madeleine sobbed and fell to the ground.  Pauline approached the body and asked: 

“Is he indeed quite dead?”

“Quite?”

The men shrugged their shoulders.

“Oh! after that length of time for certain.”

Then one of them asked: 

“Was it at the Grillon that he lodged?”

“Yes,” answered the other; “we had better take him back there, there will be something to be made of it.”

They embarked again in their boat and set out, moving off slowly on account of the rapid current; and yet, a long time after they were out of sight, from the place where the women remained, the regular splash of the oars in the water could be heard.

Then Pauline took the poor weeping Madeleine in her arms, petted her, embraced her for a long while, consoled her.

“What would you have; it is not your fault, is it?  It is impossible to prevent men committing folly.  He wished it, so much the worse for him, after all!”

And then lifting her up: 

“Come, my dear, come and sleep at the house; it is impossible for you to go back to the Grillon to-night.”

And she embraced her again.

“Come, we will cure you,” said she.

Madeleine arose, and weeping all the while, but with fainter sobs, her head upon Pauline’s shoulder, as though it had found a refuge in a closer and more certain affection, more familiar and more confiding, set off with very slow steps.

THE RABBIT